


Cup of Ambition

by bacchusofficial



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Corruption, Crimes & Criminals, Las Vegas, M/M, White Collar Crime, jacobi's a corrupt cop and kepler counts cards and cons tourists at casinos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 00:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17152322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bacchusofficial/pseuds/bacchusofficial
Summary: A hundred-thousand dollars was a hundred-thousand dollars, and if Kepler meant what he'd said privately in the interrogation room, then, assuming all went to plan, Jacobi was about to be a hundred-thousand dollars richer.(Or, if it all went to shit, one hell of a fucked up cop.)





	Cup of Ambition

**Author's Note:**

> the idea for this au came from a tiny, kind of shit prompt i did on tumblr a while back. basically an excuse for me to write some good ol' fashioned white collar crime. we'll see how it goes. title comes from dolly parton 9 to 5 of course.
> 
> i've missed my boys!

FROM: maxwell. [7:14 PM]  _i just hope u know this is a terrible idea and if u lose ur job over it i will laugh at u until u die of old age alone and unemployed. u hear me, daniel??? i'll b laughing at your goddamn funeral_

If Jacobi said he could blame her, he'd be lying. He'd laugh, too. Because, really—really—what the hell was he doing here?

Here, standing in the driveway of the home of the biggest pickpocket, con man, crook, and otherwise snake in Nevada. Even Vegas. 

Especially Vegas. 

Jacobi checked his jacket pockets as he slid his phone in, just to make sure he'd left his badge at home. He had. The only thing he could nervously curl his fingers around was a carton of American Spirits. He thought about it. Thought better of it, but kept clutching the carton, just to have something in his hands.

Here went nothing. 

The set sun cast a pale purple glow over the horizon, just visible behind Kepler's flat, nondescript townhouse. Jacobi trudged to the door and rang the plastic doorbell with his free hand.

Listening to the footsteps inside padding to the door, he almost lost his nerve and ran away. He could have—started to, but just before he turned heel, the white door opened and there Kepler stood, eyeing him through the screen door, looking as unsurprised as it was possible for a man to look unsurprised. 

After all, he was the one who'd invited Jacobi over. 

He shouldn't be here. Yet he was, and he found himself staring, too, unable to stop his eyes from drinking in the sight of Kepler in casual clothes. Jacobi had never seen him in anything less than a meticulously tailored three-piece suit, wearing or playing with a pair of ridiculous silver aviators and smiling with just the sharp parts of his teeth. He smiled that smile, now, and it was a good thing—otherwise, Jacobi might not have recognized him, with his short hair loose, a lone curl or two falling over his forehead instead of slicked back into submission, with his gray t-shirt and old torn bluejeans. 

And, of course, the bracelet strapped to his left ankle, a tiny red light blinking every once in a while, ready to go off should Kepler decide he'd had enough of house arrest. 

"Officer Jacobi," said Kepler—or, really, said Kepler's teeth. Jacobi jumped, and his eyes shot back to Kepler's face, as he tried to recover. It was too late, though. Kepler had noticed. He noticed everything. "To what can I owe this pleasure?"

Jacobi made sure both hands were shoved into his jacket pockets, so they matched. "Cut the shit, Kepler. You know why I'm here."

"Yes." Kepler's eyes glinted. It made Jacobi's skin crawl and the back of his neck burn. "I... do. Why don't you come inside? We've got a lot of business to discuss."

He didn't wait for Jacobi's response, like he just expected (knew) that Jacobi would follow. He took a look over his shoulder, like maybe Maxwell or, hell, even Eiffel had followed him here and would be jumping out from behind his car to bust him any second. 

When that didn't happen, Jacobi squeezed his half-empty carton of cigarettes and went into the house of the man who, not three days before, he'd arrested for grand larceny. 

A hundred-thousand dollars was a hundred-thousand dollars, and if Kepler meant what he'd said privately in the interrogation room, then, assuming all went to plan, Jacobi was about to be a hundred-thousand dollars richer.

(Or, if it all went to shit, one hell of a fucked up cop.)

**Author's Note:**

> anyway guys i have no idea whether i'll finish this or not, or where it's going, or what i'm doing w/ my life. i wrote this in 20 mins at 2am on christmas.
> 
> as always, thank you for reading, for your kudos, and especially for commenting (i'd especially appreciate comments on this one y'all, if only to see whether anyone's even interested in this thing going on lmao). hit me up on tumblr of course @bacchusofficial bu you can also follow my nice aesthetic boards on pinterest @duckcollins. merry wolfmas!


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